Every week this summer, someone I love or know or admire (or all of the above) will share their idea of a perfect summer day, real or imagined. Here’s illustrator and fabric designer Heather Ross:

June has not been kind. May was overwhelmingly generous to me, April was lucky beyond belief, but June has roughed me up a bit. I will spare you the details, which are not at all interesting. What’s important to note here is that I have, as a result, not been the most alert or organized lately, which is why I was dreading the 8:30am meeting that I optimistically agreed to this last Tuesday.

The weather in New York City has been strange but lovely this month, heavy and humid one minute and raining the next. It feels sometimes like an attack. Leave the house in rubber boots and not a drop, walk out in a little white sun-dress and get ready for everyone in town to see your nipples. I was dressed Tuesday morning in a defensive system of layers: jeans and sandals and a long, loose fitting shirt that almost reached my knees. It wasn’t the most flattering outfit but it was much too early to try to look interesting and I expected to be spending the bulk of the day with the lower half of my body conveniently tucked under a conference table. And OK, I admit, I hadn’t gotten out of bed quickly enough and then had to dedicate most of my prep time to address the fact that my hair looked like something had been chewing on it all night.

I made it onto the correct subway platform, jumped onto a packed express train, and was (by some miracle) ON TIME. And then the most amazing thing happened: the meeting, which had been billed as a “real hands on task force style work session”, lasted fifteen minutes. Ten of those minutes were used up by me pointing out to everyone that I had arrived on time, and another two had been squandered standing in front of the receptionist waiting in vain to be offered coffee. At exactly 9:02 I found myself back out on the sidewalk on 38th street with absolutely nothing but three empty hours, a confusing outfit, and some extremely unruly hair. Had I been feeling a bit richer or prettier (we are saving at the moment) or had it been winter, I might have celebrated my luck by heading straight down to Balthazar and buried myself in a cheese plate and imported magazines for the morning, if not the whole day, but I wasn’t feeling up to (or looking up to) being indoors yet, even if my jeans were already feeling as weather-appropriate ski pants. I felt exhausted by my options and immediately annoyed that I was in the city at all on such a lovely day. This is what June has been for me. A series of surprise attacks and a generally poor attitude.

Coffee was what eventually forced me to put one foot in front of the other, so I headed aimlessly in the general direction of Bryant Park. If I hadn’t overshot the park by a block and then crossed through it in an effort to short-cut to the coffee I wouldn’t have noticed all the chairs on the lawn. Bryant Park is elevated from the street, so you can’t see how big it is, or how lush and beautiful it is, until you are in the middle of it. Its edges and boundaries are green and thick and conceal century old rose gardens, a tiny carousel, concessions, and an outdoor movie screen of especially ingenious design. Its eastern boundary is the massive limestone backside of our New York Public Library, which is why the park’s grassy multi-acre lawn has been re-branded as this city’s great outdoor summer reading room. There are hundreds of old vintage folding chairs strewn about the park, all of them facing different angles and all of them looking just a bit crooked. There are small tables too, though not that many of them, which made me feel all the more welcome. The chairs themselves are lovely. They are made from iron and wooden slats that have been painted that wonderful waterproof Roosevelt era “park service” green paint. They are used heavily during lunch hour, when the park fills up with the thousands of people who work in the surrounding sky-scrapers, but at 9:10 am on Tuesday I was practically the only one there. I put my hand inside my bag and felt around, hoping to find the spine of the book I am reading - Where The Wings Grow, by Agnes DeMille - and to my happy surprise, it was there.

There is a lovely public bathroom in the Bryant Park that feels like it belongs to a ballroom. It even has an urn filled with fresh flowers and a marble floor and brass fixtures. This is where I went to pull off my jeans and to scrounge around in my bag for a sharp pencil, which I used to corral my hair into a tight and ugly bun on top of my head while the nice young man at the concession stand made me a giant latte. A few minutes later I was standing at the edge of the great lawn, trying to choose a single chair from a whole ready army of them. I took off my shoes and walked through the grass feeling suddenly as though (and I know this sounds a bit nuts) I was part of a highly civilized culture, if not species. Maybe its all the hours I’ve been logging on Huff Post lately, but I had been pretty much convinced otherwise.

I spent two hours there, crying through the last chapters of my book, in which Agnes De Mille describes coming back to the green forests of the northeast after living in California for several years, where she cannot get used to the fact that it doesn’t rain in the summertime. Then, as if on cue, it did start to rain very softly through the last few pages (the book was an old used copy anyway and it seemed most appropriate to let it get wet) and then a bit harder, which is when I gathered up my things and walked out of the park.

So there it was. A perfect surprise of a day in the middle of what has been a cruel month. I have always lived for summers, and have been confused about how to spend them in this city. I have even made a small career of seeking out summer in an urban landscape, through foods and flowers and crafts, but on a this recent and poorly dressed Tuesday I realized that this city figured out summer - even June, even THIS June, - long before I got here.

The first time I ever met Heather Ross, she made me a BLT in her kitchen with bacon she just bought from the green market in New York. As if that wasn’t hospitable enough, she proceeded to make a salad dressing using some of the bacon grease, then uncorked a bottle of rose and we spent a couple hours on her roof. She personifies summer to me, as do her beautiful fabric designs that you can and should check out right here. I’m so happy to call her a friend.